“Very well, I shall try.” A flash of sympathy passed over Muriel’s face, which only made Evangeline’s stomach sink even more.
They made their way through the castle and up the stairs that led to the solar. Evangeline had never noticed before how gray the stones were, gray and hard and cold.
When they reached the room, two guards stood outside the door. The guards opened it, then closed it behind Evangeline and Muriel.
Richard was lounging in the largest chair, leaning back against the cushions. Evangeline and Muriel curtsied, bowing their heads.
“My cousin, little Evangeline! Come here.” Richard held out his hand to her.
Her heart beat fast as she approached her childhood friend. But she hardly recognized him anymore. Richard was the same height as Evangeline. His blond hair was darker, less yellow than she remembered. Having just turned eighteen years old, he had lost his soft, childlike facial features. Already he had dealt with killings and uprisings, not to mention he had been married for two and a half years.
There was a hardness around his eyes and mouth. Richard had seen the fighting during the Peasants’ Uprising three years before, had actually witnessed some of his close advisors murdered. It must have been very hard for him. He was not without feeling. At least, not when he was a boy.
He squeezed her hand, then motioned to her right. “Lord Shiveley wishes to greet you.”
Evangeline barely glanced at Lord Shiveley before sinking into a quick curtsy.
“My dear Evangeline. What a beauty you are, and always have been.”
He bowed over her hand. His wet lips touched her skin and her stomach turned. She tried to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he held on.
The Earl of Shiveley had a head full of black hair streaked with white. His lips were thick and shiny.
“My dear,” King Richard said, “Lord Shiveley and I are eager to hear you sing. Shiveley especially has told everyone in London about your exceptional voice and ability.”
Evangeline glanced at Lord Shiveley and couldn’t help but see the predatory look in his dark, deep-set eyes—something between masculine and animalistic. She shuddered.
“And just in time, here are the musicians.”
Three men entered the room, one carrying a hurdy-gurdy, another a lute, and another a flute.
“What song do you prefer? They can play anything.” Richard was smiling and leaning toward her.
All eyes were on Evangeline. She had sung for the king and his retinue before, but the thought of Lord Shiveley watching her with those squinty black eyes, thinking she was soon to be his bride . . . Her cheeks burned.
Evangeline named a song, and the musicians began to play. She cleared her throat and closed her eyes, willing her voice not to shake, but to be clear, strong, and defiant.
It was a warm day, and the window was open. Evangeline imagined that her voice was carrying straight out that window and into the ears of people who would not only appreciate it, but who did not expect her to be their pawn, plaything, or anything else she did not wish to be.
As she sang several verses, Evangeline kept her eyes focused out the window on the trees well beyond and the sky and clouds above those trees. Singing made her feel free. If she kept her mind on faraway places and people, she couldn’t think of Lord Shiveley, so she continued to sing to the trees and the clouds and the birds, to the invisible masses in her mind, her heart swelling with the notes, soaring into freedom.
When the song ended, tears pricked her eyelids. Her heart seized at the way Richard was staring at her, at the thought of facing Lord Shiveley.
“Sing another, if you please, Evangeline,” King Richard said.
She gave the musicians the title of another song, grateful for the distraction, even though it would only postpone the inevitable.
Could anyone hear her out that window? Inexplicably, in her mind she saw the young man who saved the little girl from the runaway horse. Could he hear the desperation in her voice? Would he be willing to come to her aid and help her escape from the prison that was her life?
But that was foolish. No one could help her. She had to save herself.
When the song was over, she glanced in Lord Shiveley’s direction. He smiled.
King Richard was speaking. “We shall have a short ceremony here tomorrow with my own priest. We will have the banns cried afterward to satisfy the Church, but Lord Shiveley is eager to have the formalities over. I’m sure you cannot mind, since Lord Shiveley is well able to take care of you. His country estate in Yorkshire is even larger than Berkhamsted Castle.”
Blessedly, Evangeline’s mind went numb. She took the time to swallow. He would not even allow her time to accustom herself to the idea or to try to persuade him not to force her to marry Lord Shiveley. What could she possibly say that would change his mind?
“It is sudden, Your Majesty. You had only mentioned this once before.”